


The Nie and Tiere Collection

by madsmurf



Category: Prometheus (2012), Teen Wolf (TV), Wanted (2008), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Cooking, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Ghosts, Kid Fic, M/M, Movie Night, Multi, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tiny!Charles, Writing on shirts, crossovers, teacups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsmurf/pseuds/madsmurf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mini (sometimes long) fics that I have written to Nie and Tiere through MSN. There is a lot of XMFC, some Wanted, a bit of Prometheus and Teen Wolf, and a mega crossover between XMFC/Teen Wolf and The Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. XMFC/Teen Wolf/The Avengers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [error_era](https://archiveofourown.org/users/error_era/gifts).



> I'll be sure to give a brief note on each fic.
> 
> First up, the mega crossover. Wrote it to Nie. Was inspired while watching The Avengers.

"She can't be a part of this, she doesn't fit the gender quo." Stiles watches in the corner of the lab, giddy with anticipation. This was going to be /good/. 'Really Mr Stilinski, control yourself.' It just proves how long he has been hanging around with freaky superheroes when he doesn't even flinch at Charles' voice in his head. That makes him wonder, how does Charles do it? Keep from going down the rabbit hole. Can't be easy being a telepath. 'With a great deal of practice. Now if you don't pay attention you are going to miss the explosion.' That drags his attention back to Lydia, Bruce and Tony. And Lydia looks pissed. In that I'm going to kill them and they won't even know it way. It was absolutely thrilling because Lydia was going to cut them down and what make it even better was that they were (well at least one of them) egotistical.

And Lydia does not fail to deliver. It is beautiful. A work of art, just amazing. The look on Tony's face was never, ever, ever going to get old. Bruce on the other hand just looked amused and Stiles was sorely tempted to just poke, prod and talk until Bruce snapped and went all green and rage monster on everyone. 'Really Stiles? Would you really wish that upon everyone? You know, deep down, that Bruce hates when it happens.' He shrugs. Because yeah, he really would, how else was he suppose to defend himself against giant green rage monsters when he could never, you know, defend himself from it. If having a best friend forever as a teenage werewolf had taught him anything, was that provocation was always, always the key. And running. Running was always the best option.


	2. Charles is a ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is a ghost. Wrote it to Tiere.

Charles watches as Erik freezes in building his snowman, nose pink and ears red, and clutches his red scarf. Charles wonders how that must feel. Was it warm? He asks Erik and Erik just stares, all colour in his face but his cheeks drains.

"How -- I. What are you?" Charles doesn't understand. How could Erik ask him such a silly question. 

"I am a boy. LIke you." Erik's head shakes so fast Charles wonders if it is possible to lose your head that way? 

"No. No you're grey." Charles frowns. No he wasn't. He was just like Erik. Or was it possible -- no. He was just like Erik. Not grey. 

"Don't be silly Erik." Erik rubs his arms. Was he cold? 

"How do you know my name?" Charles shrugs. He just knew. 

"Did your mother make you that beanie?" Erik tugs at his scarf again, looking nervous? "Yeah." 

"It is very nice. I wish my mother knited me clothes." Erik tilts his head, and Charles shuffles his feet. 

"Is that why you don't have a scarf or beanie or mittens?" Charles nods, with a small smile. It is then Erik looks as though he has figured something dreadfully amazing out. 

"What is your name?" Charles smiles, showing all his teeth. "Charles! Charles Xavier." 

Erik looks sad now, really sad. "Charles, I think, I think you're dead."


	3. Where I get in the groove of writing Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A self imposed challenge to write Stiles fic. Wrote it to Tiere.

Quirk: _1\. a peculiarity of action, behaviour, or personality; mannerism._

He doesn't know _when_ it started, all he knows is that he just _does_ it. It's like an itch that always comes back and you just have to scratch or it will drive you up the _wall_ until you do. Then there is that moment of peace and you think thank god. That is until the itch comes back with a thirst for revenge. And you think oh you _fucker_. Restart. Game over. You lose, sucker. It's an endless cycle. He likes to think 'yes I'll stop, I can stop anytime' and it makes him sound like he's addicted, which he's not, but then that makes him sound like he's in denial and that just makes it sound worse. Really he just can't help that he's always _always_ thinking, so what if he has to grab any piece of paper and write it down as quickly as possible. If he can't do that he just has to wring his hands together, just to slow down the thousands of thousand thoughts rushing through his head. So he just does. It is probably the only _normal_ thing in his life, what with werewolves, hunters and god knows what else. So yeah, he'll keep doing it even if he never truly understands why or how it came to be one of his quirks. He can live without knowing.


	4. Some Scott/Stiles best friends fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-season and after season two. Wrote it to Tiere.

"Whadda you doin' Stiles?" 

Scott tries to squirm away, but Stiles is _heavy_ and it's getting hard to breathe and everything feels heavy, tight. That's until Stiles' hand pats his head, like he's some kind of dog. Which Scott does not appreciate thankyou very much, he was a human! 

"Nearly done Scotty." Stiles sounds so happy that Scott doesn't grumble at him for calling him Scotty. 

It was such a stupid nickname. Why couldn't he have something awesome like Stiles, 'cause Stiles wasn't actually Stiles and that happy feeling spreads through his chest, 'cause he was the _only_ one that knew what Stiles' actually name was. Well his parents knew or did they? 'cause Mr and Mrs Stilinski both call Stiles. 

"Awesome." 

Stiles stops doing whatever he's doing to wriggle so that they are nose to nose and Stiles is upside down. At least he looks like he's upside down. "Whaz awesome?" 

Scott squirms a little, it _was_ getting uncomfortable and Stiles was really heavy. "That I know your name. Your other one, not your name now but the one before." 

Stiles sorta stares, not blinking, and Scott wonders how Stiles can _do_ that, before smiling real big, so big that Scott can see Stiles' two front teeth missing. "Well duh you big dummy. You are my bestest friend ever! 'course you know."

Then Stiles wriggles his way back down to do whatever he was doing. Scott takes a _big_ breath and waits.

"Done!"

"Finally! You took ages. What'd you do anyway?"

Stiles stumbles off Scott's back, looking both proud and secretive, Stiles was awesome at doing that and one day he was going to be just as good as Stiles. Scott sits up, waiting. Stiles just shakes his head. "You gotta wait and see." 

Then Stiles just runs off, laughing. Scott scrambles to his feet, running as fast as he can. He was gonna catch Stiles this time!

He doesn't end up catching Stiles but he does see what Stiles did. When his mum tries to take his shirt he screams and screams, nearly causing himself to go blue. So he keeps his shirt, even folds it up properly and keeps it in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. It stays in there, untouched.

Until one night after the full moon, the first full moon he's had being actually broken up with Alison, he pulls open the drawer and takes the now too small shirt out and lays it on his bed. The words, scribbled in horrible child handwriting, STILES WAS HERE stare up at him. He smiles.

"You still have that?" Stiles looks speechless and that warm feeling is back, he grins.

"Of course you big dummy, you are my bestest friend ever."

Stiles laughs and laughs, pulling Scott into a hug. "Of course, you got anything else hidden away?"


	5. The one where Azazel is Charles' papa.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my attempt at writing Papazazel within the canon. Was inspired while watching XMFC. Wrote to Nie.

He moves swiftly into the room making sure to strike his blade into the nameless agent twice, once through the side and again in the chest. The agent crumbles. He steps over and through the window, he relaxes only slightly when he can't see Charles. He can't let anyone know. Meeting Janos's eye he listens to the panicked pleas of another agent. There was no point in trying to reason with Sebastian, especially if you were human. You had no chance. That's why he doesn't even flinch when he hears the crack. His heart bears with each of Sebastian's steps, his tail sways side to side as he waits. When Sebastian walks in with that ridiculous helmet he only looks when Sebastian speaks. "Where's the telepath." Charles was more than just a telepath, Charles was his little one. Taking an internal sigh of relief he answers. "Not here." He can only hope that wherever his little one was, that he was safe. Away from Sebastian.

"Looks pretty messy out there."

He takes a breath in and follows his instincts, the pull of that one mind until he sees what the sailor sees. They're all dead, all but this man and it breaks his heart. Who could do such a thing.

Then he spots the captian. He allows the solider to cry out, surely the captain would -- no.

It couldn't be.

No.

No. No. No. NO.

He was a good man, a caring man. He wouldn't. He'd never.

Except it was all clicking to place. The others descriptions of red devil.

And it was staring him in the face.

No.

He wouldn't believe, his papa was not a monster.

There had to be a good reason.

After this he was going to find out.

Azazel's foot crushes the sailor's face. The pain is sharp and he reels back into his own body.

"Crew of the arrowsea are all dead. Shaw's been there."


	6. The first of Papazazel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically the origin of Papazazel. Wrote to Nie.

It hits him like a knife to the heart. It burns him like the fires of the underworld. He doesn't even think before the familiar pull of his power is pushing him away from Sebastian's mundane meeting and everything fast forwards until it all jerks to a shuddering halt and he is standing in a nursery.

The pain is but a distant echo as he looks around the room. There was nothing, not even a crib.  
Yet he had been pulled here. He stands in the middle of the room and waits, his tail swishing side to side. It is only minutes later when one of the nursery's walls slide open and he watches, curious, as a small boy emerges.

The boy must not be any older than four, judging by his size. The boy's eyes tell another story however, the boy's too blue eyes look as though they have seen war. The boy stands in the archway of the hidden passage, unafraid. He offers his hand, crouching down to the boy's level.

"Hello little one, my name is Azazel. I am not here to harm you."

The boy does not reach for his hand instead the boy takes a few steps forward until the boy's hand hovers over his tail, uncertainty is clear. He flicks his tail so that the boy's hand rests against it. The smile that spreads across the boy's face makes it the greatest decision he has ever made.

"What's your name little one?"

The boy looks up and stares, hand still curled around his tail.

"Charles."

He looks at Charles and looks at the hidden passageway, and focuses. He allows himself to reach out and listen. He hears the rustle of leaves as they sweep across the lawns, he hears the buzzing of crickets and the calls of the owls, and three flights down he hears a woman and man speak. Their voices loud on their floor but not even heard from his and Charles's floor. The more he listens, the more he dislikes this Sharon and Kurt. He dislikes the way they talk of Charles, of a boy named Cain.

He looks down at Charles, who is stroking his tail with such care that he is hit with a strong urge. An urge to protect.

He moves his tail out of Charles's gentle hands, he pretends to not notice the way Charles looks like a kicked puppy for a mere second before Charles masks his feelings to neutral, he truly tries to pretend but he knows that it will haunt him, no child should be able to do that. Carefully he wraps his tail around Charles's waist, making sure the point of his tail rests against Carles's hands. Charles looks up at him, confused. He runs his fingers through Charles's hair -- he ignores the shock on Charles's face and instead focus on the pure joy -- he smiles, and Charles smiles back.

"Little one, I'm going to ask you a very serious question and you must answer with the upmost honesty."

Charles nods, eyes wide and trusting.

"Would you like to come with me?"

He watches as Charles's eyes widen, and he watches as Charles thinks it over. He waits. It takes Charles several minutes before he answers.

"Do you mean that?"

It was not the answer he was expecting.

"You won't throw me away when you get sick of me will you?"

He pulls Charles forward with his tail and wraps his arms around Charles, petting Charles's hair. He feels Charles's hands cling to his suit jacket.

"Of course not little one, I'll never do that. I mean what I said, I promise to take care of you."

He feels Charles bury his head into his jacket, and he holds Charles tighter. "I never break my promises little one, never."

_'I don't want to hurt anymore.'_

To his credit he doesn't flinch as Charles's voice echoes in his head.

_'Hold on tight little one.'_

Charles clings tight as they are both pulled away from the nursery and pushed into one of the lounge rooms that he owns. Looking around he smiles, Charles was going to love the view. They were at his house in 6ème Saint Germain.

"You can let go now."

The look of pure happiness warms his heart.

He lets Charles run around and explore until Charles staggers onto the couch. He waits until Charles's breathing even outs before scooping him up and carrying him into one of the guestrooms. Tucking Charles in and pressing a kiss to Charles's forehead is the easiest part. The hard part is hearing Emma's call and having to leave when Emma takes hold and pulls him away.

He can only hope that Sebastain's meeting is quick and that Charles does not wake up before he returns


	7. The one where Charles is the teacher and Erik is the student.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is the guilt-ridden teacher and Erik the student. And somehow they make it work. Wrote to Tiere.

Charles groans, rubbing at his face.

The day was finally over.

He rolls his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the kinks in his neck. He loves his job, really loves it, but some days were just exhausting. Letting out a slow, even breath, he closes the door. The silence around him is relaxing.

He leaves the building pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he lets out a yawn, covering his mouth. Starting a light jog, he makes it in time to catch his train. Now it would only be an hour and he could just crash and burn.

The siren call of his bed keeps him awake so he doesn't miss his stop. He barely notices the people around him as he trudges through the streets and up his apartment building's stairs. He does mumble a polite hello to his neighbours that were out and passing him in the halls, his manners wouldn't allow anything less.

Unlocking his apartment door he lets out a sigh of relief, glad to be home.

He's two steps in when he notices the smell.

Fresh cheese, pasta and tomato.

He lets his feet carry him to the kitchen and drops his briefcase. The thud echoes around the apartment, the only other sounds are the simmering pot, and breathing. He lets out a startled breath.

"Erik."

Erik, is standing in his kitchen, wooden spoon, dripping with tomato sauce, is held loosely in Erik's hand. Erik doesn't even flinch, only smiles, showing the smallest amount of teeth.

He wants to take Erik by the shoulders and shake him until he saw sense.

"I thought you'd appreciate a home cooked meal, you looked worn down at school today. Have you been sleeping?"

"When I gave you the keys Erik you know perfectly well that they were meant for weekend use only."

"Stop avoiding the subject Charles."

"Marking takes time Erik, especially for senior students. You know that."

"Doesn't excuse you from sleep."

"I can sleep when mmph"

Erik has made his way around the kitchen bench and pressed thier lips together. It only last a few seconds before Erik pulls back.

"Go to bed Charles. Sleep. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

He goes to protest, the pasta was cooked alongside the mince he could smell it -- he hadn't spent all those years being a top chef to learn nothing, but Erik is gently pushing him away and down the hall to his (their) room. He lets out a sigh and covers a yawn. Sealing his fate he allows Erik to manhandle him into his (their) bed.

As soon as his head hits the pillow he is out, and he hopes that the laughter he hears as he drifts away isn't a part of his imagination.

"Charles."

He mumbles syllables, hugging his pillow tighter to his body. A warm, large, hand rests against his shoulders and he tries to hide in his pillow. Mumbling more syllables as he does so.

"C'mon Charles, I made your favourite."

He detaches himself from his pillow but does not even attempt to open his eyes, instead he rolls onto his back, limbs spread wide.

"Chaaarles."

He smiles, opening one eye.

Erik is looming over him, looking fond and impatient. He opens the other eye. Erik smiles, showing a glimpse of teeth before kissing him. He hums with contentment.

It doesn't last long as Erik pulls away, and grabs Charles's wrist and pulling him up and out of their bed.  
He lets Erik guide him out his (their) bedroom and into the dining room slash lounge room slash kitchen. The smell of spaghetti bog invades all his senses and it is all he can focus on. He was mere seconds away from drooling.

He all but dives for his seat, it is dignity that saves him from /actually/ diving to his seat. Poking his tongue at Erik and his amused look, he begins to eat (not before Erik sits down of course, he /was/ raised with proper manners).

They don't speak, it was the only time they didn't. He believed the meal should be the only focus, let the enjoyment of eating a good meal speak for itself.

He does, however, watch Erik as he eats and notice the little things.

Like how Erik will eat every bite as if it would be his last. Or how he would rub at the handle of the fork or knife and be lost in thought.

He loves watching Erik when he eats, it is at this time he can pretend that they are a normal couple having dinner together and not teacher and student. At these times, he feels less guilty.

They finish the meal and he clears the table, stacking the bowls on the bench and begins to clean. Delighted that Erik was /finally/ getting the clean as you go policy. It was a great improvement from the beginning. He washes up with a fond smile.

When he gets to the last fork, he feels Erik pressed against his back and he laughs.

"Erik."

"Mmmm."

Erik's arm snake their way around his waist, and Erik's chin rests against the top of his head. A friendly reminder that Erik was taller. He subconsciously leans into Erik, a sigh escaping his lips.

"I have to wipe up, and put away."

Erik's grip tightens just slightly, it was barely any difference really.

"It can wait."

He wants to argue, wants to say it was better to get it done, however he can't muster the strength to say anything. Instead he leans further into Erik's embrace, finding comfort in the warmth. He rests a soapy hand on Erik's linked hands.

They stay like this for several minutes, it feels like hours. That doesn't matter, it only matters that it's just the two of them. Nothing else.

No worries.

No fears.

Just them.

It's perfect.

"Sugar, open the door. I have the biggest piece of news."


	8. The life of Wesley Gibson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You could call it meta on Wesley. Spoilers for Wanted. Wrote for Nie, and 'cause it was/is for Nie there's Wesley/Charles \o/

When he's young he thinks when he's going to grow up his life is going to be full of riches.

When he's a mere teenager he thinks, maybe he's going to pass by as long as he can keep his ma supported. It'd crush him if she left him too. When his ma passes away the anxiety attacks start and he thinks he'll be lucky to survive the night.

When he applies for the desk job he thinks maybe his life is starting to look up. It certaintly looks that way, he gets the job, a gal, and the anxiety attacks lessen. He thinks he's the luckiest man on earth.

Then he catches his gal with his best friend and he thinks he should be angry but instead he thinks he should have been more supportive, had more money, better in bed, had less anxiety attacks. He thinks of everything but being angry.

Then he thinks it's what he deserves.

Everyone left him anyway.

His gal and his best friend were just new names to that list.

When he meets Fox, he thinks what the fuck is happening. Why did it have to be him of all people?

Then he thinks for the first time in a long time that his life is looking up. That his life is really going to mean something.

Then of course, he thinks, of course his life turns to shit.

Everyone leaves, everyone dies.

He doesn't know what to think anymore.

So he just hunts down the remaining members until there is only dust in the wind.

When that is done, he hides in bars and watches the world pass by.

His skin clean, and yet he is soaked in blood.

He dares not wonder what his life could be like, for only bad things happen.

He is death and loss personified.

Then one night, a man walks in and his hope is restored, his life is given meaning.

"Excuse me, but that is a very groovy mutation you have there."

"My name is Charles Xavier. And I would very much like it if you joined me for a drink."

"Wesley, you are not alone. Stay with me and I can show you everything imaginable."

He goes.

He hopes.

He dreams.

He loves.

He is happy.

For the first time in a long time.


	9. Charles hates coffee and misses Wesley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles hates coffee. Misses Wesley. Erik is the best of friends /ever/. Wrote it to Nie.

Charles hates coffee.

He hates the reminder it holds.

Hates the reminder that Wesley wasn't home.

That Wesley was out there, fighting in a war that didn't need to be fought.

So yes, Charles hates coffee.

It's the two year anniversary of Wesley's departure and Charles glares at the coffee tin as though it was all the tin's fault.

Erik watches with concern.

"Charles, I think you need to get out of the house. Get some sunlight. Go to your favourite coffee shop."

Charles turns away from the coffee tin and glares at Erik instead.

"No."

Erik sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I had hoped this didn't have to come to this."

Next thing Charles knew was that he was being dragged outside by the metal in his shoes. He lets out a indignant squawk.

"Erik!"

"No Charles you are getting some air and sunshine even if I have to drag you the whole way."

With no options left, Charles does the next best thing, he pouts.

Erik drags Charles all the way to 'Groovalicious' and all but chains him to the chair.

The waitress, Raven, smiles at them sweetly "The regular?"

Charles goes to correct her but Erik gets his words in quicker. "Yes, thanks."

Charles glares at Erik while they wait. Erik only looks smug.

"You'll thank me later Charles."

Charles scoffs. "I doubt that."

Erik only smirks in return.

Their drinks arrive and Charles forces himself to drink the caramel latte with extra caramel.

Erik opens his mouth and then Charles swears he's dreaming as the words might be Erik's but they only sound like Wesley to him.

"Why so grouchy Charlie boy?"

Erik is grinning.

Charles turns in his seat so fast that he is hit with a dizzy spell.

And there sitting behind him, only a hand away, is Wesley.

Charles bursts into tears and all but flies into Wesley's open arms.

"You're home. You're home. You're home."

Charles feels Wesley hug him tighter, feels Wesley's chin against the top of his head.

"Yeah Charlie, yeah I am and I'm staying. Staying for good. Never gonna leave you again. Never."

And for the first time in two years Charles feels whole again.


	10. The one where Erik pines forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired entirely by that 10 Things I Hate About You. There is a lot of pining on Erik's end. Charles is oblivious. Azazel is always right. Emma is flawless. Had a blast writing it to Tiere.

“Secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.” Erik flinches at Charles' words. He clenches and unclenches his fists trying to figure out the right words to say. He can't. The words don't make any sense, certainly not in English. It makes him want to punch Charles. To scream at him, to shout that he was fine and he didn't feel like that and if that was so true why couldn't Charles see. See that he wanted to spend everyday curled up on one of Charles' massive couches watching reruns of Friends. That he just wanted to be with Charles. Not helping Charles get a date with the most popular girl in school, Emma Frost, because that sucked and it hurt. He just knew it would end badly when Charles would finally get that date with Frost and there was nothing he could do about it. He had to be the better man. 

\---

"Mutation, mutation took us from a single celled organism to the dominate --"

Erik covers Charles' mouth with his hand before Charles starts with worst pickup line in the history of pickup lines (and Erik had been there as Charles told every single one). Charles frowns up at him, then licks his palm (it takes every ounce of his willpower to not jerk away in disgust, the things he did for Charles).

"You'll have to excuse my friend here, he's had a bit too much to drink I think."

The girl with one green and one blue eye laughs, resting her hand on her chin. "He must be so lucky to have a friend like you."

He forces out a convincing laugh, "Hardly, I'm the one that suggested he have the drinks in the first place," he lets out a over dramatic sigh "I never learn."

Charles has resorted to - was he French kissing his hand? - doing something weird to his hand so he drags Charles out of the bar as quickly as possible. Once they are outside he lets Charles go and frantically wipes his hand over his pants. Charles entirely too smug. Erik gives him the finger.

Charles makes to go back into the bar but he grabs the back of Charles' tweed jacket before Charles can take more than two steps.

"Oh no, we aren't going back in there," he gives Charles' jacket a forceful tug "we are going home. You have that big genetics exam in the morning and I am not waking you up. It's my day off."

Charles tums and tries to give him the 'puppy dog eyes' but Erik didn't fall for that anymore, he had known Charles since they were kids. So when that doesn't work Charles stumbles into his chest, he wraps his arms around Charles' waist. Charles looks up at him, looking rather pitiful. 

"But Erik, you promised me a fun night."

He only promised Charles the fun night because he had been in the dumps about his and Frost's breakup (he would have never would have guessed that they would have lasted till their second year of college -- Charles had even been planning to propose, and that had killed him). So he had been the good friend and promised to get him smashed.

Not the wisest decision.

"And I gave what I promised, now lets go home."

Charles rubs his cheek against Erik's chest, mumbling about some nonsense, growing heavy in his arms. He takes that as a yes and ends up carrying Charles back to their shared apartment.

He doesn't mind. Glad that the building had an elevator. He doesn't mind taking off Charles' shoes and socks either. He finds the simple task relaxing. He even gives each foot a massage, because he knows Charles will wake up with aching -- to the point where he won't be able to walk without pain -- feet and he knows how important the exam is to Charles, so he doesn't mind. He'd do it any other day, why should tonight be any different? He also knows that despite his earlier statement, he will wake Charles up just so he gets a decent meal in before going to the exam. He doesn't mind doing these things for Charles because, to put it simply, he loves Charles. And to see Charles smile, it makes everything worthwhile.  
\---  
The last thing he hears before blacking out is the crunch of metal and the screeching of tyres.

The first thing he sees when he wakes up is Charles.

Who looks like death warmed over.

"Hey."

His voice sounds horrible to his own ears but it's worth it to see a watery smile from Charles.

"Hi."

What he doesn't expect his to feel Charles' fingers stroke back his hair. He leans into the touch.

"Erik." Charles looks at a loss and that scares him, Charles is never lost. "Erik, I'm so," he watches as Charles struggles not to cry and he just wants to wrap Charles in his arms and tell him everything is going to be okay, anything to stop Charles from breaking down. "I'm so glad you're okay." 

Charles drops to his knees and takes hold of his hand and squeezes tight, as though afraid he was going to disappear, resting his head against Erik's arm. "I don't know what I would have done if you if you had," he squeezes Charles' hand back, trying his best to reassure his best friend that he was here and he wasn't going anywhere "if you had died."

Charles breaks down after that and he can only whisper that everything was going to be fine. He wishes he could do more.

It isn't two months after he had been released from the hospital that he notices a change in Charles. He kicks himself for not noticing sooner.

"Charles what are you doing?"

Charles looks up from rearranging the spice rack. "Isn't it obvious?"

He frowns "Obviously but why? You've done anything like this before."

"Well you are always saying you like having your spices in a certain order but never enough time to arrange them. So I thought I would do it for you."

"Yes but why?"

"Well it's just, you do everything for me and I've only just realised this and I just want to repay you in someway and I like it to be honest."

He lets out a startled laugh, leaning against the wall, then sliding down it. Never taking his eyes off Charles.

"I ... Well thankyou I guess."

Charles smiles and it feels as though the whole room is brighter. "No need to thank me Erik."

He smiles back. "Does this mean I get a foot massage."

"Yup."

He doesn't stop the belly laugh that escapes.

This is the happiest he has felt in months.  
\---  
Erik can't take it anymore. He lets out a frustrated yell and throws his steel mug across the room. As the mug clangs against the wall he drops to the floor and hides his face with his hands.

"Comrade? You are upset. Why? You know how your meals suffer when you are down."

Erik grumbles, and leans against the wall, debating on if it was possible to go through the wall. He feels Azazel's hand on his shoulder.

"Is this about Charles?"

He moves his hands away and glares up at Azazel. "Why would it be about Charles?"

Azazel smirks and he resists the urge to sock him in the face. "It's always about Charles, everyone but Charles knows that it's always about Charles."

He frowns choosing to glare at the wall instead, then sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat. "Is it that obvious?"

When he sneaks a look at Azazel, Azazel's look is concerned. Azazel's hand squeezes his shoulder. "Yes comrade, yes it is."

He lets out a bitter laugh. "I'm pathetic aren't I?"

Azazel shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips "No, you're ridiculously in love."

"That just seems worse."

"Seems like the same thing to me sugar."

He glares at Emma. She smirks. Azazel looks between them, matching Emma's smirk and he really wants to sock them both in thier faces.

"Now quit this pity fest and finish your prep, we open in ten."

He flicks her the finger.

She laughs, and somehow it sounds exactly how Emma is, cold and calculating with that tiny bit of warmth.

He sighs and forces himself to stand. "I hate you, just so you know."

"Wouldn't have it any other way sugar."

She leaves. Azazel begins to chop the last of the onions and he begins to clean and peel the last of the potatoes. It's then he leaves the world and focuses on the mediocre task of twirling the potato and the scrape of the potato peeler against the potato. It is just himself and his food.

This goes on until closing. He fries fish, steak and potatoes and whips creams and eggs. Dishes are made, compliments are said and the day goes well.

They are closing up when Azazel gives him a look and he cringes. "What?"  
"You and Charles?"

"You're persistent."

"There were complaints."

"What?"

"Emma didn't want to fuel your pity fest."

He flicks Azazel the finger. Azazel merely raises an eyebrow. He lets out a huff, and runs a hand through his hair. "Fine." he ignores Azazel's pleased smile, he'd slap it off otherwise.

"Charles has been acting weird. He's been helpful, he's never helpful." Azazel looks amused and he wipes and puts away a glass "You don't know what he's like to live with. A slob, paper is always scattered around the place. Dishes are always left undone. Clothes are never put away. He's just impossible and the excuses! The excuses are always the same. Oh my friend I'm terribly sorry, I'll fix it right after this paragraph. My thesis needs editing. My thesis this and my thesis that." he shakes his head as he cleans another glass, Azazel watches perched on a stool. "Just impossible. But nowadays, dishes are clean, stacked and put away, clothes are folded and put away, not a single paper in sight. It's weird and I don't know why he's acting like this."

Azazel looks at him thoughtfully. "Prehaps, comrade, Charles has realised his error and is fixing it."

He hums, putting the last glass away. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Azazel laughs, clapping him on the back. "I'm always right."


	11. Prometheus fix-it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it was needed. Heavy spoilers for Prometheus. Wrote it to Tiere.

They're running and the pain is excruciating and death is licking at their heels. She trips and lets out a scream. "Vickers!" Vickers stumbles as she looks back and watches as Elizabeth rolls and her mind screams at her to do the same. So she does. And she is safe, for only what feels like a second, and she is scrambling backwards, fear clawing at her throat. And it falls. Her heart stops. "You have two minutes of oxygen." She struggles free, breathing heavily. "Doctor Shaw! Answer me!"

\---

"What the hell was that?!" Except Elizabeth isn't answering, just muttering and she swears she hears Charlie in that muttering. She reaches across, pushing back the pain, to shake her out of her funk. It couldn't do, not at a crucial time like this. It is David that knocks hope back into them. 

"Elizabeth, Ms Vickers can you hear me? Do you copy? I believe we can leave this place." 

Elizabeth's laugh is high pitch, deranged and she thinks that they are both laughing. "There is no leaving this place David." 

"There is more ships, I can navigate it if I am reconnected to my body." Wait what? More than one ship. That was a frightening thought. 

"David. Are you sure, can you guarantee it." she is sure she sounds panicked but this was not time for half efforts and ifs or maybes. Elizabeth echoes her concerns and David reassures them both. That said they struggle to their feet and make their way to David. To hope.

They place David's head near the controls and she watches as Elizabeth follows his instructions to the letter. It was calming, to a degree, that they were escaping the planet, that they would be safe. That this would all be over, just another report, just another task completed. 

"Ms Vickers are you alright?"


	12. The one where Charles is tiny and lives in Erik's teacup.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was too cute of an idea not to write. Had a blast writing it to Tiere.

Once Upon A Time...  
There lived a man and that man was known to be terrifying. Children would whisper his name, making tales of how he was a demon sent to prey on the souls of humans. The man knew of these stories and it causes him to scowl even more for the man, though very angry and bitter, just wanted company. The man was lonely.

That changes on the eve of winter.

On this night the man comes home from a long, tiring day to find a small man.

This small man was only two centimeteres tall.

And sitting within one of his favourite teacup.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, voice hoarse from yelling at his coworkers all day.

The small man merely smiled, "you look like you are in need of some tea, or perhaps something stronger, and some rest."

The man frowned, dropping into the bar stool, heaving a heavy sigh. "You didn't answer my question."

The small man nodded as he climbed out of the teacup, moving very carefully. "Ah yes, my name is Charles Francis Xavier. I hope you don't mind me staying here, all matters considered you are taking everything rather well."

The man shrugged, resting his head on his arms. "I'll wake up soon."

Charles laughs at the man, and walks over to the jar where the man keeps his tea bags. "And what is your name, my friend?"

The man stares at Charles, wondering how a man so small could even open the jar. "Erik. My name is Erik."

Charles looks over his shoulder and claps his hands. "What a terrific name, now Erik could you be a dear and open this for me, there's a good chap."

Erik, thinking nothing of it, does as he is told and ends up making two cups of tea. Of course, Charles's is given something smaller to drink his from -- Erik manages to bend a piece of scrap metal into the shape of a cup -- and they both enjoy their tea. It is after their tea drinking, Erik comes to the conclusion that he isn't dreaming and that he does in fact have a tiny man sitting, cross-legged, on his kitchen bench.

He comes to this conclusion and he finds himself not caring in the slightest.

At least now he had someone that didn't fear him.

And that was good enough for him.  
\---  
For the most of it, it was pretty normal. They were a couple. Everyday he would come home and Charles would be there waiting to hear about his day. And they would play chess after dinner and Charles teacup would sit on the bedside table and together they would fall asleep, talking until they could no longer form words. And then it would repeat.

Except today, today was different.

He felt different.

He opens his eyes, and lets out a godawful shriek.

Everything was gigantic. Blue was all he could see. It was just an endless loop of blue.

"CHARLES. CHARLES HELP. CHARLES."

He curls into a ball and pulls his hair, willing this nightmare of blue to end. In the distance he hears a clatter and maybe his name, everything was muffled. He lets out a choked breath.

"Erik! Where are you?"

He can't get the words out so he screams and screams and screams.

He doesn't stop until arms wrap around his body and words are whispered into his hair. He clings to the person -- Charles, his mind offers helpfully -- and he sobs.

"Hey, it'll be alright. You're okay. I've got you. Come on, let's get you in the nest. There's a good lad. One step after the other. Atta boy."

As they both lay, curled around each other, in Charles's nest, he doesn't let go.

It feels nice to hold Charles close without fear of crushing him. It felt very nice.


	13. Because Nie wanted it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nie wanted more works of David 9 so he could have his own tag and I couldn't help myself. So obviously wrote it to Nie, flawless darling that she is.

To say Niner was curious was, quite frankly, an understatement. He was the cat. He was what brought that darn cat back. He was the dog that would not let go of the bone. More than likely if Niner was ever curious about you, well lets just say...you were doomed. Poor David didn't see it coming.


	14. Danny/Ethan -- because Danny is a supernatural fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny decides to marathon Supernatural with Ethan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote to Tiere because we both agreed that Danny would so be a Supernatural fan. Danny is unaware that Ethan is a werewolf at this point.

Danny flops down and sinks into the best couch; resting the popcorn on his chest; his legs dangle over the armrest. Looking up at Ethan as his head rest just at Ethan's leg, he smiles. "You ready for this?"

Ethan rolls his eyes with a smile, "Lets find out." He reaches over and pinches a handful of popcorn. If he steals a quick kiss, well that's between them.

Danny does not regret introducing Ethan to his comic books turned into movies collection at all. Danny presses play, stretching out so his head rests on Ethan's lap and his legs are no longer dangling over the armrest; instead his feet just rest on top of the armrest.

_"Dad's gone on a hunting trip."_


End file.
